Hand of the Joker
by Rose Mello
Summary: SEQUEL TO RESCUE: Basically a continuation to A game of Shadows. Is Moriarty alive? What of Irene, Holmes and Watson? Who holds the cards and who bears the Joker? SPOILERS FOR AGoS.
1. Chapter 1

**I'M BACK! HERE'S THE BEGINING TO THE SEQUEL! ENJOY! NEW CHAPTER UP BVERY SOON! PLEASE REVIEW! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK AND WHO YOU WANT IN THE FOLLOWING CHAPTERS.**

**PROLOGUE:**

He felt the icy and almost frozen waters pierce his skin like a thousand sharpened daggers. His grip on the other was lost, however he did not care at this coming moment. All his senses were blocked and hindered as his back had met with the razor bitter water from the falls. He landed hard, his he knew, and he also knew that without fast thinking action he would not dream of survival. With as much force as he could muster, he clasped his arms together and attempted to get the wintry surface. His attempts though, were to no avail.

Dark spots began to collect around his vision as his mind ran a million miles to find an answer to his survival. His chances weren't high; in fact they were so slim they almost seemed invisible. But he would not give up, nor would he give in- for that would be as good as losing. His thoughts continued to travel as his arms kept failing to reach the very lightly lit gleam of the moon and the iridescent aura of fresh oxygen. His time was running out as he continued to fight the sharp and highly uncontrolled waves. He fought with immense power until-

He dragged a long gulp of air as he broke free from the water's darkening clutches. His success though, was short-lived- because as soon as he pulled in an exhale of air, he was dragged back under. He knew that there was no way he could continue... he looked around him under the water. He could feel the waves pushing him closer and closer to the fall that he knew he had absolutely no chance of surviving. It was only a few metres away... his strength was running out as he broke to the surface once more and quickly glanced around.

_There!_

He spotted a rock- not too stable- but seemingly stable enough. It was to the side, he was not sure if it was near the centre because his vision refused to expand... but it was unfortunately too far to reach if he were to swim close to the surface because he knew that the waves would surely fight against him. He considered swimming below the surface by a metre or so but knew that it was too far to swim without oxygen and would take too much out of him and too long to draw another breath whilst he swam...

Then one bright idea hit home.

_The mechanism!_

It was an alternative that probably would not work, but it was his one and only. He quickly through his arm into his jacket and hurriedly attempted to find it. The edges of his vision were darkening and unconsciousness seemed the easier and more efficient option right now... but even so, it was definitely not one he'd choose willingly. Finally, with a single final successful effort, his cold and numbing fingers clasped around something hard and metal in the secret pocket of his tailcoat.

He pulled it out without another second to waste and crashed it upon his lips whilst drawing a deep invigorating breath,

_Thank you Mycroft_

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them. Biting down hard on the 'oxygen supplier' so that he would not have to use his hands and fingers to hold it in place, he pushed forward with as much effort as he could muster and began to kick with his anaesthetized legs.

It seemed to take forever, but soon he was there. Above water and clutching on to the rock for dear life. He removed the mask and held on it tightly as it almost slipped from his grasp. He gasped and drew in a large intake of clear refreshing air then continued to pant.

_Time to get out._

He looked around, taking a stab at finding someplace safe with a _solid _surface. Actually, at this moment he really couldn't care any less at the fact of whether it was safe or not. All he wanted to do was lie somewhere firm and unyielding, anywhere other than the retched water he found himself struggling in.

His eyes zoomed around, until to his great surprise and fortune, realised that since this rock was near to the bank of the fall that there had to be other rocks. True enough, as his eyesight travelled upwards, he caught sight of it. More rocks that eventually, and _thankfully_, lead to stable hard ground.

He was not sure why the ground was there or _what _it was doing there, but nonetheless he was sure only too glad that it was. It didn't stretch out far- he noticed, but far enough for about three people to lie on horizontally. He looked further and spotted something,

_A cave entrance?_

He could only wander what a _cave entrance _was doing under the falls, so clear yet obviously so out of view. He suddenly felt a rather strong and terrible wave hit that had him nearly losing his grip on the rock. He knew for sure that he had to get up, and he had to get up _now._

The amount of strength he had forced himself to use just lift him up was so very too much. He was now on his hands and knees, panting as more water threatened to crush the living daylights out of him. There were just a few more rocks he'd have to crawl across to get the rough but thankfully strong ground...

With only another moment to think, he balanced himself on one hand and two knees as he threw the oxygen supplier mask onto the tough ground,

_I'm sure Mycroft would appreciate it if I were to return it..._

Now, he had nothing in his hands and was free to full himself up and straightforward without too much trouble.

It took a bit of time and it certainly caused a few slips but he had made it even so. With a thankful sigh and another draw of fresh invigorating breath he collapsed, heaving heavily on his back. He coughed up some water before turning and twisting on his side and picking up the mechanism which had so graciously saved his life and placing it back into his 'secret' yet well known pocket of the suite supplied by his brother.

_I... should... inspect... the caves. To find a way out..._

He panted some more before dismissing the thought and closed his eyes whilst laying his arms on his chest.

_Maybe later..._

Unconsciousness welcomed him with warmth and comfort as he settled in at ease within its soft and content arms.

_Yes, perhaps later..._

**YAY!**

**SO WHAT DID YOU THINK? NEXT CHAPTER UP SOON.**


	2. Chapter 2

**THE CHAPTERS WILL GET LONGER- I PROMISE!**

**YAY! Next chapter! This might be a bit boring but hopefully it's alright. I needed to make sure everyone knew how Sherlock had survived and I had to put this scene in to explain some events that would take place later...**

**PLEASE R&R!**

He'd made it.

He'd once again made it.

Like a man with a thousand lives who'd planned to leave the earth, yet something drew him toward life every time. He didn't count. Not anymore. He refused to acknowledge just how many times he had successfully escaped death without have any intention to do so. His latest close brush-in with death was in fact a very fortunate and overly lucky one, as was his choice to 'borrow' his brother's air supplying device. He thought to himself about the amount of times when he should've died, the amount of times which he should have lay lifeless and bleeding somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He knew know was definitely not the time to run over how blessed and propitious his chances were becoming, for he silently feared if he dwelled at them too much they might just disappear or run out.

He sighed and focused again, straightening his back slightly yet keeping his eyes completely hidden under the old top hat he snagged along with the grey suit and pants he'd come across on the way. He let out an exhale of breath; the time to wander how he'd survived the entire ordeal was not one he cared to think about anytime soon.

It was strange, even to him at this moment. Things just... didn't feel right.

_Well of course they don't feel right; I'm attending my own funeral..._

He shook his head. Yes, it was true. At this moment he sat close to the back, in a jammed row. That perplexed him. The fact that there were so many people here today certainly surprised him to the most... he glanced around and knew for sure that some of them were obviously genuinely upset, but what he done to deserve this? Why were people... caring so much? Even from his packed and slightly uncomfortable seat he could see people shedding tears. Tears for _him. Yes, _he had expected people to show, but he had most undoubtedly not expected _this _many people to show. It definitely and unquestionably intrigued him at how other's minds worked.

_Why should, why WOULD, they be this sad? It's unexplainable. I don't believe I have left too much of a positive effect on people yet here they are... crying. Why would they be crying? This is most certainly unexpected._

He looked around again only to be greeted by some more familiar faces. A child, whom he'd remembered was walking up to the stage. The child's family was poor. They were robbed of everything they had and were forced out onto the street. The child's name, if he remembered correctly- and he was one hundred and fifty percent sure he did, was named Arthur. He had a sister named Geneen and mother by the name of Martha. He recalled getting a letter from Arthur himself asking him for assistance. It had indubitably taken no time at all to prove the boy's father guilty. He had been running a scam to do with the downtown bar- and once Martha had come across it, he kicked them out but not before almost killing her. After he had solved the mystery they would keep thanking him, for as they said it was 'because of him that we have our living residence back and it was because of him that that monster is behind bars in jail'.

He only watched at the child stood up on the podium and microphone- which was clearly too tall for him- and began to speak. He spoke of how much help Sherlock was, and Holmes was once again truly and utterly surprised by the sadness and cheerlessness in his tone. It was as if he was honestly upset about the detective's passing.

Sherlock blocked out the world once more and left himself with his thoughts only.

_I wander what they will have to say when I make my reappearance... the press will have surely already written about my 'death', and will keep to the story for awhile I'm sure. I suppose I should let them know I'm alive rather soon... not just yet though. For now I will allow them to dawdle on the details whilst I do the same..._

The final of the child's words caught Holmes ears immediately as they were spoken,

"Mr. Holmes is, was and always will be the greatest and most kindest detective England has ever known..."

His eyes were wide now and his mouth slightly ajar. Greatest? Kindest? Holmes would know a million words to describe himself but 'great' and 'kind' weren't really some of them. He let his ideas and thoughts flash briefly before him for a moment and wandered what kind of affect had he _really _left on people. It was so clear to him that in this room oh so many people would miss him, truly miss _him. _He'd always figured people would miss other people like Watson, or Mrs Hudson, but not _him_. All he did was solves cases and get to the middle of crimes. He was no hero, no saviour. Unlike Watson who was a doctor or Mrs Hudson who was lovingly hearted and thoughtful. This was a truly and completely rare moment when he, Sherlock Holmes, had absolutely nothing to say.

The next to come up was Lestrade.

_To boast about the final game coming to the end because my methods were insecure and not too thoughtful perhaps?_

Clarky was up there with Lestrade. Holmes had often taken a liking to Clarky for some strange reason that he did not understand. They both looked distress like they had lost something important. It was until Lestrade began to thank Holmes for everything he'd done when he figured he'd gone mad.

_Lestrade... is thanking me? _

A smirk crept to his lips but he- thankfully - managed to keep it hidden in the shadows.

_Blimey, I must be going insane. Hallucinations perhaps? _

He chuckled a little to himself before forcing himself to concentrate. He realised in a split second how dark and wounded the atmosphere was. He knew he wasn't imagining things, but he still ceased to believe it. He knew it would be rather odd, weird, just purely strange to attend one's own funeral, but the things that shocked him most were not the things he saw, but rather the things he _heard. _His eyes watched and followed Mrs Hudson as she stepped up onto the stage and placed her shaking hands on either side of the podium. She took a deep wobbling breath then finally spoke,

"Sherlock Holmes, though it's strange to admit it myself was always sort of like a... son to me"

That was all it took.

It was all it took for Holme's mind to go _blank._

So very absolutely and utterly _blank._

Mrs. Hudson, the kind warm and welcoming landlady had thought of Sherlock Holmes, the incompetent, rude and loud detective as a _son? _He had never had a particularly close relationship with his own mother, but never really wanted one in the first place. She had always been rather uncaring, snobby and standoffish, very much unlike Mrs. Hudson. Holmes was honestly thankfully that no one could see his expression- or his eyes. There were undeniable tears shining. Why, Sherlock did not know. Nor did he understand. Why would anyone think of _him_ as family? Other than Watson of course. It was too strange to be true, yet inside, it left a little warm feeling in his heart- though he would never openly admit it.

Mrs. Hudson continued to praise him before turning to the empty pure white silken cover coffin and thanking him as if he were truly there. The next guest speaker who stood made Holme's eyes feel like discs. Mary Watson. He wandered what she had to say...

"Sherlock Holmes was a brave man. He fought with honour, dignity, and hope"

_I suppose I just never saw it that way..._

"It's a tragic loss to this world that he has gone. He is someone I never truly understood and will become someone I'll never truly understand... but I know one thing, and that's he deserves so much more than he gets."

_I do? Why, thank you Mrs. Watson. _

It was the first time he'd accurately addressed Mary in that term. It felt alright. It didn't feel like he was losing his best friend and practically brother to the unknown evil and dangers of marriage, but rather having him move further and deeper into the bright light of care and enjoy being with the woman he justly loved.

_Thank you Mary._

"Thank you Sherlock"

It was now quite surprising, even though he knew he should have been expecting it, to see Stanley stand up and give his speech. He'd never really rightly been too close to the servant, but to hear him say such kind words meant quite a lot to Sherlock.

He began talking about how Sherlock was a great man whom gave his life to save them all, then continued on to how much he will be missed. Holmes sighed and cleared his throat very lightly as to clear his mind also, whilst not disturbing anyone else. He mentioned that Holmes will live in everyone's hearts too. That part- even though it shouldn't have- knocked Holmes off-guard.

_A place in their hearts? A forever vacant hole? I honestly don't believe what I am hearing even though it is completely... rational. Again I have been so close and absent minded... it still surprised me at just how much emotion every person is willing to show. It truly gets me to think- to wander. I did not realise just how much I had affected everyone. I suppose I should've though._

He saw Mycroft walk up to the platform, his expensive- Sherlock noted- vintage Italian leather shoes clanking as he stepped on to the wood. His dark authentic suit was one Sherlock recognised. It was one he had not worn in years, one that he saved for the rare, both good and bad, moments in life. However that was not what troubled him. That, matched with the rich and expensive shoes could only mean that Mycroft was grieving and sincerely missed his younger brother. His hair was combed to the side and if Sherlock was right, would not be disturbed even if you were to drag the world's largest hair-comb across it. He chuckled lightly to himself until he caught sight of the hallow and clearly sad look laced on his brother's features and melted into his eyes.

He started by saying Sherlock's nickname. One that he had called him by when they were mere children. Holmes smiled and continued to listen. The man had begun talking about how the younger Holmes sibling was strong and never gave up. About how he was honest and kind and about how he never got nearly enough credit for what he did, and when he did, he deserved so much more. He asked for a moment of the crowd to silently remember his brother and the short yet world-changing life he lived. Sherlock paused. He really didn't know what to say about the whole situation. They... they really did care didn't they? He felt crystal clear tears stinging at the corners of his eyes- something so uncharacteristic and strange to him... he'd never felt this way before. He didn't even know what the feeling was. Sadness? Joy? Confusion? Nothing seemed close enough to describe the sensation that made his heart flutter...

It was Watson's turn next. He was the final speak, and Holmes was by far the most eager to see what his best friend had to say. He didn't think Watson would prepare a speech- no. In moments like this he preferred not to read of a paper like so many others, but also- instead of speaking his mind- Holmes knew he would rather speak his heart.

"When I first met Sherlock, I rendered him the strangest being in all eternity. I remember how he fired shots into the wall of our flat merrily because he was bored"

He smiled. The memory was all too clear to Holmes. Watson had often gotten irritated with him in those times...

"And sometimes, he would even wake us up at the dead of the night with his odd violin playing. I had grown frustrated with him time and time again, but all he would say would be either "Watson old boy I only suppose you've grown old" or when confronted about his strange behaviour and why he does it says "I don't choose how I behave, my behaviour chooses how I behave" which usually had me lost."

Holmes couldn't help but chuckle at how Watson attempted to change his voice to suite Sherlock's more. He continued to listen with a smile plastered on.

_Watson is going to be rather mad at me after I reveal myself, isn't he? Knowing that I sat through his whole speech..._

"But no matter his demeanour or his behaviour, Sherlock Holmes was a man of fairness, righteousness and integrity. I only have one final single thing to say: Sherlock Holmes played the Game for the sake of playing the game.

Sherlock let out a horse laugh. He knew those words portrayed him so well inside, yet he refused to admit it. He smile only faltered when Watson spoke his final words,

"And a few short nights ago, England lost its most brilliant man, the world lost its most intriguing detective, I lost my best friend...

_A few short nights ago, we all lost Sherlock Holmes"_

His grin was placed back on firmly.

_Thank you Watson._

She sat near the front. He large fancy fabric hat hiding her eyes. They were filled with new tears. Tears that had yet to fall. Tears that however threatened to. She looked up to listen to the end of Watson's speech. He had told them they had lost him... he had told them they had lost Sherlock Holmes.

_Ironic, isn't it Sherlock?_

_I'm the one who's supposed to be dead. _

_Not you... not you._

She couldn't help it any longer. An unwilling tear slid down her cheek and blurred her makeup in its wake. She couldn't take it any longer. She stood just as everyone and hurried toward the door.

He was gone.

_Sherlock Holmes was gone._

And there was one thing that she had forced herself to come to terms with, and that was that he wouldn't be coming back.

Standing up, he hurried out as soon as the final applause had taken place. He knew he had caught the Doctor's eye but kept moving forward,

_All in good time Watson old boy. _

_All in good time._

But someone however bumped into him, someone in a rush. Someone who was clearly not watching where they were going... It was young lady, a young lady with a fine taste in over-sized hats and-

_Parisian Perfume?_

Only one person whom he knew wore that certain scent- and that person was none other than-

Irene Adler.

**TA-DA! Evil aren't I?**

**R&R for me to start the next chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3

**HI! Please do review... It'll take longer to update if you don't... I only got about four reviews for the other chapters and that almost killed my self esteem. It hid in the closet so I had to use Nutella to lure it out...**

**ENJOY. MAJOR TWIST IN THIS ONE :X **

I almost thought I had lost her... for a moment there it was as if I was seeing two identical Alders, one disappearing to the left and the other to the right...

I was pushed to the left so I followed the one nearest- believing it was my imagination that there were two in the first place. I chased her until we were out on the emptying streets of London. We were about a ten minute trek of the funeral home where the ceremony was held, the whole time I was trying to catch up to her, whilst she kept evading. I'm sure she knew it was me. She had to have known. I was currently 'beardless' and the rest of the facial hair I'd placed on was withering away in the streets behind us. I had not yet caught sight of her face- that left me thinking. I was sure it was her- it could be no one else... but then...

Why had she fled? Why was she running?

I finally decided to finally speak. We were both tired and the rain had begun pelting down on us like daggers. My body still ached heavily from the fall and injuries I had suffered before- there was no way I could make it much longer without collapsing.

It had to be her...

But it certainly surprised me. I had been too shocked to speak at the beginning, but now I regained my voice. I needed to know if Irene Adler was alive. I needed t to know if she was her...

"Irene"

It was the only word I spoke. It was the only syllable I pronounced. It was all it took.

She stopped and paused. I heard her sigh from the few meters difference that lay between us. It seemed so short- yet now when I look at it, it seems so distant. I could tell in the change of her demeanour that she had come to terms with the fact that I was alive and standing behind her. She began to turn, and as soon as I saw her face I knew it was she, I knew it was Miss Irene Adler. Joy seemed to cloud my being. I had known it was her- but seeing her- not –_knowing _but _realising. _Relief washed over me like a huge wave and a closed my eyes momentarily. I ignored and blocked out the pain echoing from my joints painfully, along with the hard stabbing thundering rain showering us.

Our eyes met, and I could see that hers were truly uncertain. As if she did not know if it was me, as if she thought I was some imposter...

Irene was alive.

She was alive.

She began to stare at the wet moist ground as if unsure of what to do next. I could feel my heart thumping loudly through my chest. I chuckled to myself inwardly for my strange behaviour. Perhaps this is what one feels once they have attended their own funeral services and found a- close- friend whom they believed dead at the hands of the enemy.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps it was just me at this very moment attempting to comprehend all of the events that had taken place.

What occurred next was certainly unexpected.

She ran to me, and without a moment's thought she embraced me. Her arms wrapping around my own as she buried her face in my chest. I returned the embrace with a sigh, it felt so good to have her back- and for real this time. My heart had 'unexpectedly' shattered when I was acknowledged with her death.

But now she was here, with me.

And for some strange reason that hadn't sounded very strange itself...

I looked down at her and something undeniable caught my eye- a scar. It was almost hidden under her hairline and anybody else wouldn't have noticed it. If they had however, it would be simply and easy to assume it was a souvenir of an accident, a major trauma. However, me knowing Irene- I knew she had never had that scar. It seemed as if it were a year or so old- with magnificent repair work- Doctor Hoffman style perhaps- but he was dead...?It was barely visible, but it led to behind the ear where it seemed the skin had been torn back...

_Impossible._

My eyes widened in disbelief but I did not let her see. Our embrace continued- but I could only hold out for so much longer. I had noticed that there was something... off about her voice but I had simply nudged it of through my relief and thankfulness to finally seeing her...

This... this had to be her... Moriarty was dead... this can't be... she had to be Irene...

We finally released each other, but she stayed in my arms.

"Oh Sherlock..." Yes her voice was definitely... just not right- and her Parisian perfume was not there... "I'm sorry. I ran because... well I just didn't know what to think..." the real Adler would have never used that as an excuse. Never. This was not Irene, of that I was now positive, however- I just smiled and acted as if I was falling for her plan. I also noticed that she had begun to blink rapidly as if wearing eye-contacts... I noted that Irene was a left hander, however when she made her hand movements and gestures she would always rely on her right...

But who had sent her? It was clear that she was not Irene, but I realised that the _real _Adler _was _at the service. It was her perfume I smelt- and when I thought I was hallucinating seeing two Adlers, I was in fact not at all. The fake must have been at the funeral too, to see if they had found my body perhaps? She was probably supposed to report back immediately but could not when I suddenly chased her.

So just who was this woman and who sent her?

I was about to analyse her- find out more- but I was interrupted by the clanking of a carriage behind me. Almost immediately I felt the stranger's lips on my cheek before she hurriedly turned and ran off into the cab, leaving me no time what so ever to collect my thoughts.

But this meant something.

It meant that Irene was alive due to me seeing her today and mistaking the imposter for her.

It meant that either Moriarty or his henchmen were alive and planning revenge.

It also meant it was time to meet up with Watson.

~SH~SH~SH~

If Watson was anything, he was a proud man. Proud of his accomplishments, proud of his wife, proud of their life together. If there was anything he wasn't proud of, it would be the fact that he let his best friend- and practically brother- slip through his hold and tumble into the deepest clutches of death. Or so that was what he was made to believe. Yes, he was made to believe that his dearest and closest ally had met his demise in the process of saving all of Western Civilisation. An honourable death, true. However... a death at all was what he questioned. He still had not come to terms with the passing. He still had not come to terms with never being able to see he brother through bond ever again. Nor had he come to terms with the thought of actually missing him. No, he had not- because of a single uncertain hint leading him to believe that Holmes, was in fact, not dead at all.

How had he come to this conclusion?

Through the parcel he received the evening after Sherlock's funeral. It contained none-other than the small metallic mechanism the younger Holmes seemed to be so fond of. He had no other clues, no other hint or details. Yet deep somewhere deep inside, it seemed like a strange nightmare- a nightmare he would give almost anything to awake from.

Because it was not unusual for Sherlock Holmes to glide near the withering edges of demise- but it was most unusual for him to truly, essentially, breathe his last and final breath- it was unusual for him to finally, really die.

It was a thought that Watson had often thought whilst on his cases with the- seemingly- crazed detective. Oh so many times had Holmes skated near the very ledge of death, yet he had completely kept his balance. Like a tightrope walker performing his act, Holmes would walk between the parallel worlds of the living and the dead, always tilting a little toward each side- yet never collapsing. Never losing his footing, never taking a step too large or a step too small. Just slipping. And each and every time he got back up and continued his trek to very end.

Yet when was the end?

Was this the finality of the great Sherlock Holmes? The man with a thousand lives? Was he at this very moment lying somewhere beneath loud raging waters where his body would never be found? Or was he alive, scheming and laughing silently as Watson attempted to deal with the newly found details?

_What does this mean...?_

Watson sighed, turning the small sharp object that could have possibly saved Holme's very life in his hands, entwining his fingers at the joints then releasing and examining it further.

He inspected it longer. His fingers trailing along its smooth golden and silver hard metal skin. He eyes it and released another intake of breath before placing it on his large, fair toned authentic oak desk.

_Just give me something more, Holmes..._

As if on cue, a small white, rumpled yet folded paper fell though the inside of the mask and landed gently onto the desk- it's pristinely white tone forcing the oak's colour to pal greatly in comparison. Watson jumped from his chair and sprang at the paper, his fingers nimbly fumbling with the tiny note- being unable to wait to open it.

_Meet me where it all began dear Watson- the day being a single day after my passing services and the time- the moment of my 'demise'._

A large grin ripped its way through Watson's face. His eyes lit up immensely. His heart was thumping faster as he continued to stare at the note contently, a warm feeling spreading rapidly through his being. Then suddenly reading the piece of perfect paper again his eyes faltered. _EXACTLY twenty four hours after my 'demise' _it read. Quickly thinking, he calculated. It was a day after the funeral, then thought- Renée's time of death was at eight forty-five during the night- and Renée had passed away about a minute or two before Holmes made the drop.

He checked his silver and gold lined pocket watch-

_8:15_

And with that he dashed out of his study and toward the place where it all began-

221B Baker Street.

~SH~SH~SH~

It was dark when the doctor got there. The lights were all out and he wandered for a second why. Then he remembered in a flash- Mrs. Hudson was off to the country side to visit some family because- as she claimed openly- 'It's simply too hard not to here wretched violin playing at three in the morning' he chuckled at the memory. The servants and maids were taking the day off too- since there were currently no more residents living in the flat. Watson had –thankfully- brought his key.

He fiddled with it and inserted it in the key hole, twisted and heard a satisfying click. Pushing the door open, he walked inside and began making his way up the steps to Holme's rooms.

He paused for a minute and thought things over.

He would hopefully be meeting his 'dead' brother by bond in his former temporarily abandoned apartment complex. Strange it was, and it kept Watson's heart searching for light and beating faster with every step up. He skipped over the fifth stop remembering it was broken then cringed when he remembered that it was one of Holme's experiments which had caused it to be that way.

He sighed and thought of how he would greet the detective when and IF he saw him. It was all so strange... did that mean that Holmes had attended the funeral and heard everything everyone including himself had said?

_Selfish bastard._

It was sudden- but he remembered calling Sherlock exactly that on the train when he literally died. Ironic. He finally got to the door and fisted his palm. His hand hit the door which creaked slightly open.

_It's unlocked..._

He took a deep breath and entered, completely off-guard and unsure of what to expect exactly. The first of his steps came out as loud echoes in Holme's-still- messy room. He was uncertain of what to do exactly. Yell out or just wait?

He looked around him. He was barely able to see anything as the room was completely dark. The only light was illuminated from Holme's large window where the moon glistened through it. Holmes never opened windows unless he was expecting something or some_one. _He was snapped out of his thought by a touch on his shoulder- so light and gentle he swore he could've been imagining it.

But he couldn't risk it.

His soldier instincts took in and in a second, his fingers were clenched and he fired his fist directly behind him where the touch was coming from. His fist collided with something soft yet rough- flesh. He turned, his arm quickly flexing and grabbing a lantern- lighting it with a match then sticking it out to see whom he had hit.

On the floor of his own room, Sherlock Holmes lay nursing a bleeding nose and a frown.

"Always good to see you Watson"

**WHAT DID YOU THINK!**

**If you didn't understand the part with the 'fake' Irene, in A game of shadows, Holmes and Watson discover that Moriarty had used surgery to make one man look identical to another! The same aspect had happened with Irene, but she's alive... for now...**

**I have no idea what to put in this story, so please review and tell me what you want!**

**R&R **

**THANKS**

**X. Rose**


	4. Chapter 4

**NEXT CHAPTER! Mwahahaa! Read and Review! This chapter explains things abit. More will be explained further into the story!**

Hand of the Joker IIII

Holmes and Watson sat opposing each other on large comfy armchairs. Strong, hard rain pelted at the still open windows of the room piercing like daggers whilst flames danced and twirled sensationally in the corner of the room within the large cosy fireplace. There were only so many things that Watson wanted to say to his friend whom was currently nursing a –luckily- not broken nose. He was sure it hurt, even though the bleeding had stopped a short while ago. The doctor, however, could not bring himself to regret his actions in any way possible. Even if he hadn't been on alert, which itself was rare, he would have probably welcomed the strange detective in the same manner.

Watson straightened himself on the chair before deciding it was time to break the almost unbearable silence shared between the two.

"How?"

It was the only word spoke, yet once it was said the sky outside seemed to get darker and the thunderstorm stronger as the fire flattered and faltered a few meters away. There was a smile on Holme's lips suddenly but Watson had quickly realised that it did not reach his eyes.

They continued to stare at each other in intense yet full-hearted gazes. The eerie strange silence only broken by the flicker of flames and sounds of raging winds and rain until Holmes had decided to- finally- offer a much needed explanation.

"Well you see dear Watson, it's a rather long story, I'm afraid I can't tell you everything..." he trailed off. Sherlock did not want this to last longer than necessary. Because in all honesty, as much as he wanted to fill his friend in, his mind could not help but waver to the thought of the deceiving and conniving fake Irene, as he had called her. His hopes were crushed off simply beginning the investigation when Watson replied,

"Don't. Leave. A. Single. Detail. Out."

He knew he had no choice no, because he knew that he owed it to Watson more than anyone to tell him what had occurred in his so-called 'death'- before _and_ after.

He began, though slightly wavering and unsure where to start. His eyes trailed to the ground but soon, he finally came to a decision.

_I will start at the beginning. And I will not- as Watson had said- leave a single detail out._

"The fall at Reichenbach could not be prevented, that I assure you..." he stopped for a minute, making sure not to catch the doctor's eye. He continued to stare at the floor, as if recounting some sort of memory. "I had struggled at the beginning. Realising that I could not make it to the edge in order to hold onto something close to the surface, however if I were to go below the surface- by my calculations- I would not have the breath to make it all the way without taking an exhale of air- which would be far too far and tiring to reach. I did not give up though, nor would I have dreamt of such a thought. I had to think quickly, knowing very well that if I did not act rapidly that my adrenaline would run out and from the height of the fall and the brisk and rather painful land in the water that I would most likely go into shock." He gave Watson a moment or so to process what he was saying.

"The thought itself was certainly not reassuring" he chuckled lightly but bitterly, "but I refused to let it get ahead of me. I continued to think of ideas and analyse my surroundings when suddenly it hit me- my brother Mycroft's air supplying device that I had... borrowed." He met the other's eyes before turning his own the fluttering flames. "I placed it on without a second thought and rushed toward the rock I had spotted just before. It was not too safe, but thankfully stable enough for me to hold onto and regain my breath. And from there- I do not know how exactly I had missed this- but from there was a short stretch of land about four or so meters, and just beyond it was a hole."

"A hole?" Watson seemed most intrigued now. His eyes were wide and fixated on the latter's own, his attention to his friend completely maximum.

"More of a cave to be precise." John nodded, and motioned for him to continue with his hands. "I however, at the time, was more fixated on the lying on the stone ground and letting my exhaustion cease" he smiled slightly and Watson's jaw dropped for a second before he hastily pulled it back up.

"How long were you asleep for?"

"About nine to ten hours, I presume. For when I had finally made it to the ground nearby the cave I was sure it would have been around nine at night, as when I woke up the sun was rising. It certainly surprised me at my seemingly understated exhaustion." Watson's pupils dilated slightly. He knew his friend was fatigued, but never thought it had been that bad.

"I then continued on to discovering what was in the cave." He paused as he recounted the thoughts and memory still fresh in his mind. "It was roughly designed, and even at close range from an untrained eye it would seem completely natural" the doctor waited for him to continue, simply beginning for an answer. "However, when looked at by say... someone such as me, I could tell that the edges of some rocks were far too smooth, whilst ones beside them were completely rough. The stone below my feet however, was dirtied with dirt, dirt that should not have been there. I could only assume it was hiding something, and even in my haste, I crouched below and examined the floor. I had assumed correct. There were markings, signs more so"

"Signs? What on earth of?" Watson's voice seemed confused, intrigued, completely interested and on edge all at once. He was literally on the edge of his seat, listening in pure and utter anticipation.

"They were all identical. All representing the Ouroboros." He watched as his friend became momentarily perplexed. "The Ouroboros is something I have only read about. The sign was of a serpent, biting its own tail. This if course represented the ongoing cycle of life, eternity.

"I did not spend long with those however- deciding that there were more needed matters at hand. But still I had kept a mental note of everything I saw. I continued to walk down and through the cave, realising that now, and the markings were not only on the stone ground, but rather the walls too. These were more poorly hidden, but each mark seemed the same as the one before it. My trek had taken what I had assumed was about ten to fifteen minutes, taking in all the turns of course. Finally, I had come to where the tunnel ended, and much to my thankfulness, it was not a dead end."

"Where did you end up?" the other asked hurriedly, most interested in the tale of the trails of events that his best friend had gone through.

"The underground sewers of Switzerland" he cleared his throat slightly before continued, lightly eyeing the fire in the background. "I had walked for what seemed to be a simply few minutes to me, before finding a thin ladder. I had hurriedly made my way towards it and in a rush, climbed over and out onto the busying streets about have a mile from the location of the summit. From there I had jogged to the station where I asked when the next train to London would be boarding. To my extreme luck, it was about a half hour wait. I had spotted a rather... arrogant woman with luggage that weighed much more than her self, and bags. cases and trunks much larger than myself. I had managed to slip into an old dark trunk and simply waited until we boarded, and from then on I can assume you can figure out what happened"

To say Watson was fascinated would have been an understatement. Initially he had been interested, but now he was captivated, absorbed. He hung on to every single of his brother in bond's words like an anchor but did not interrupt.

"From there on I simply hitched a ride with a horse and carriage over to our part of London from then on I had stayed in a hotel..."

"Why? Why hadn't just come an told me you were alive!" Watson seemed infuriated but upset more than anything. And Holmes could certainly understand that... he needed to explain. "Why had it taken you two whole days after the summit to show yourself Holmes?"

"I had... run into some unexpected guests, you see. Well more or so they had run into me actually, most literally." Watson's ears were perked. "I had most luckily managed to 'borrow' a fake beard and facial hair- with a grey suite and rather tall top hat to go with it from a small local visiting circus stall" he paused. "I have been checking into the hotel suite when he bumped into me- Moriarty's right hand me." His doctor friend's eyes widened like discs. "At first I had not recognised him but knew he was familiar. I used the following day to observe him. I had followed him in and out of his suite but his actions were not suspicious _at all. _I had never gotten a proper good look at him, so by that time I had presumed I was incorrect- something I never do... though I assume it was to do with the lack of cocaine and adrenaline in my system..." he met Watson's pair of piercing eyes again. They were still- much to Sherlock's dismay- filled with sadness. "I left the hotel the next day, with every intention on telling you that I was honestly, truly alive" he took a deep breath...

"I had been making my way to Cavendish Place when I walked passed a young newspaper boy, it was not just the loud chatter that had caught my attention but his words- "The great Detective Sherlock Holmes falls to his death! I had not realised that the news had spread so fast, but then again, what should I have expected?" he chuckled darkly before continuing. "I knew now that I could not make myself known. If- and I certainly hoped not- Moriarty was still alive, he would have figured out that I had died in the fall- for this purpose I could not tell you. At that time, even if I had gone to Cavendish Place there would be too many witnesses and suspects.

"I returned to the hotel and stayed another night- hoping to figure out some sort of plan. It was too dangerous to reveal myself at that given moment when the news had just erupted, so I decided to wait another day. The next day, coincidently, was the day of my... funeral"

"You were there, weren't you?"

"... Yes" Holmes stared deeply into the older man's gaze. He smiled apologetically. "I had to make sure that there were no... Corrupt happenings. I had to make sure that neither Moriarty nor his men were there" he sighed. "Watson what you had said..." he let out another exhale of breath.

"Every bit of it was true Sherlock. But now is not the time" he knew what his friend was trying to say, and smiled at him with hope and thankfulness.

The smile that was returned was wiped off Holme's features however and replaced with a grim expression suddenly.

"It was until after the funeral that I knew that Moriarty is still alive" the shocked doctor was even more- if possible- shocked. "Irene was there... at the funeral"

"Irene! Irene Adler? The very same Irene that was supposed to be dead?" the words came from his mouth harsher than he'd intended due to the shock in his system. He grimaced as he watched his best friend flinch.

"Yes..."

"Holmes, that's fantastic!" He smiled but was suddenly worried when Holmes did not reply but had kept the grim saddened expression on. "Holmes, what's wrong, what is it?" he was suddenly alarmed, almost jumping out of his chair.

"Watson... at the funeral... there were two Irenes"

"What! Holmes- do you mean..." he trailed off, shock and horror laced in his town and features.

"Yes... unfortunately..." Sherlock inhaled a deep breath to settle himself and not to let his emotions get in the way. "I had thought I had been imagining when I had seen two separate Irene at the funeral, both turning the opposite directions. I had attempted to follow the one to the right, but was pushed by the following crowd to the left. I ran after her, chased her until we were about a ten minute hike from the funeral home. I had not understood why she ran... then I noticed. Her voice was off a little. At first, I had dismissed it, but then also noticed that her Parisian perfume which had lead me to follow her in the beginning had disappeared, and after a few words and a poor excuse she ran to me and embraced me." The look in Sherlock's eyes was- as Watson realised- dark, regretful and... Insecure?

"I was so thankful and grateful for her 'return' that at first I did not notice her look. Then I looked down and spotted something. A scar running through her hair line and a little under... whilst behind the ear the skin looked as if it had been torn back"

_Oh god... _Watson thought. It must have been horrifying, simply and utterly _heartbreaking _for Holmes. Even if he wouldn't admit it, the doctor knew he felt something for the devious women- and she certainly felt something just as strong back.

"So you believe Moriarty is alive... but why Irene? Could it be that he knows you're alive too?" Watson thought out loud.

"There is a great chance that that is the case... But I certainly hope it isn't, otherwise he will be planning some other appalling way to destroy all of western civilisation and claim his revenge on me" he sighed. This was not good, this was _definitely _not good.

"After you found out that it was not Irene, what did you do?" John asked, once again intrigued and perplexed in the series of unfortunate events.

"I did not do anything. I simply waited as my shock took over, then she planted a kiss on my check and ran over to a nearby carriage which had come up- and I was and still _am _certain that either Moriarty or his henchmen had been in it. But- I had fortunately- also noticed something on the colour of her overcoat. A strike of chalk. Chalk that is only sold in a single place within a fifty mile radius. I believe it is called 'Bean Blue' a mix of a strange dull emerald green with a navy shadowy blue. One is only able to purchase it in a store about twenty meters to the left of the college which Moriarty works in"

Watson couldn't help but grin despite the situation.

"So what now?"

Holmes was about to answer when there was an abrupt knock on the door. The pair looked at each other in a confused and perplexed manner, unable to hide their strange fears.

"Expecting anyone Watson?"

"No, you?"

"No..."

Holmes walked over to the door after lightly and quickly getting to his feet. His best friend was right behind him, revolver in hand. They shared a look before Watson lifter his gun to the height of the door and Sherlock placed his firm hand on the old rusting gold door knob. He took a sharp intake of breath before twisting the door open...

Who he saw shock him.

**WHO COULD IT BE?**

**R&R TO FIND OUT!**

**X. Rose**


	5. Chapter 5

**The last chapter was edited! Thank you to 'WAINGUY' who pointed out that the falls ARE in fact in Switzerland, so that part of last chapter HAS been edited. THIS CHAPTER EXPLAINS SOMEMORE; THE ACTION WILL BE IN A FEW CHAPTERS... MWAHAHA. R&R**

"You self-absorbed, selfish scoundrel!" she yelled. Her hand- with a mind of its own- moved to its own accord and slapped the very same Sherlock Holmes who was suppose to be lying dead in the bottom of the raging falls over at Switzerland, so many miles away.

The scene grew quiet and slightly eerie yet no one made to break the silence. The only sounds echoing through the messy residence where the light fluttering dance of the flames and the loud, hard and rather bothersome pelting of hail alongside the large open curtains, revealing soaked oversized windows.

Holmes slowly and very carefully moved his right hand to the side of his face where the woman's small and delicate hand had connected with rather harshly. Both men continued to stare in complete and utter oblivion and disbelief.

"Well aren't you going to let me in?" she spoke harshly- a bit more arrogantly than she'd intended but he deserved it, oh yes he deserved it so much. It took both 'gentlemen' a minute to regain their composure and slightly longer for Holmes to moves out of the way to the side again to let none other than the woman through, for that woman was none other and the very same-

Irene Adler.

There were no marks or scratches on her face, only dirt and water at the tip of her dress- the only part visible below the long black coat she wore. There was no scar lining through her hairline and the deep enriching scent of her signature Parisian perfume hung in the air. Her heels made alight clatter as she walked toward the coat and hat stand where she quickly disposed of her soaked wet over-garment, revealing a beautiful blazing midnight blue evening dress. Its tips were lined with silver bows and detailed lace, as were its edges at her elbows and collar. Her radiant flaming red hair was up in a messy yet rather pretty bun- leaving a streak or two of hair at each side of her face.

She walked ahead of the two, and moved toward the couch nearby both armchairs previously occupied by the others. She made a move to sit down, her back still to the gentlemen behind her, but in one swift motion she found herself in a deep warm embrace.

She froze, but not in shock, in calmness and sadness. She was not sure if her eyes would hold the large crystal tears begging to drop down her cheeks. She turned around in the man's arms so that they were only inches apart. Her hands reached for his neck as she embraced him further, neither wanting to ever let go.

She felt his lips brush softly over hers before both pairs smiled,

"I've missed you Irene"

She couldn't help but chuckle. She wanted to feel hate and anger towards the partially psychotic detective whom had put her through so much and played with her feelings, yet she could not bring herself to feel more than affection, care and... Love.

Their embrace lasted a short while longer before she spotted Watson looking rather uncomfortable in the corner of the room, finding his shoes to currently being the most fascinating things. Her smile widened when she tightened her hug around Sherlock than released, only grinning at him before moving towards the couch and finally, actually sitting.

"I do believe we are in time for an explanation"

They were all comfortable when Holmes began explaining his situation. He didn't get into too much detail but enough to draw the audience in- again. He explained the patterns, signs and marks, what the meant and from where they had originated- though couldn't be quite sure why they were there in the first place. He explained his trip from Switzerland to London and his run in with the evil professor's henchmen, though once again could not be sure of why they were there. That small statement started a long and interesting discussion between the trio, but ended not too long after. He mentioned his funeral and how he saw two Adlers and finally realised that one was a surgical experiment. At this Irene had looked at the floor as if in shame but that certain tone in her eyes quickly disappeared soon after.

He continued to talk about the possibilities than on to how the very moment they were in happened. So many questions had been passed, such 'What was the cave doing there?' and 'Is Moriarty alive? Did he plan this?'- All went unanswered.

After a short while of questions and no certain answers, the group moved on,

It was time for Irene to explain.

"After the incident with the package..." she paused and spared a glance at Holmes, "I went to meet with Moriarty. I had requested the meeting to be somewhere public and filled- my favourite restaurant. However... when I got there, I was unaware that Moriarty practically had control of it. With a snap of his fingers everyone was gone" she sighed but continued.

"I asked for a fresh pot of tea- that was before I realised the set up was a hoax. After taking a sip I began to feel strange, dizzy. I knew he had placed something in it, but did not let it show. Only then did he show that the bystanders and happy couples around us were merrily his minions." She let out a short exhale of breath. "He had said that he no longer required my services, so with that I attempted to simply stand and leave, but nothing could be that easy with him. I collapsed upon feeling nauseous and dizzy, after that I am unsure of the events that took place... until..."

"Until he revealed to you that you were just part of something bigger all together" the latter stared at Holmes, his eyes meeting both theirs.

"Yes. I woke up about what I supposed was a few hours later, on a surgical table beside another woman..." she trailed off, closing her eyes for a moment before she kept going. "There rest was quite a blur, and at first I didn't quite understand what was going on, until I spotted two men, both identical, yet their eyes were of different shades and one had scar running behind his ear"

Both Holmes and Watson knew of whom she was talking about...

"What then? Did they hurt you?" Holmes asked her quickly, his eyes scanning her body for any obvious bruises of cuts.

"No my dear Sherlock!" she laughed a little even though none knew what was funny. "They did not hurt me, though they certainly threatened to..." she paused and watched as Sherlock's fist clenched and unclenched before going completely still. "I escaped"

"You escaped?"

"I escaped" she smiled."After long hour of staying strapped to that cold metal table I had begun to grow rather bored. I was being studied, I knew that, but I knew I had to leave soon. I simply waited for the right moment before making my great escape. From there I got a simply job at an attire store where I assisted the owner, whom very kindly gifted me this... then... it wasn't long before I read the papers... it wasn't long before I read about 'The demise of the great Sherlock Holmes'..."

Holmes released a sigh, then though for a moment,

"But how did you know I was alive? And _here_?" Watson's ears perked up at the question as he continued to watch intently.

"Yes, how exactly _did _you find out?"

"Well, that is all thanks to one Mary Watson" she smiled gleefully. They were both quite confused right now. "After the funeral, someone bumped into me. Someone where long unsightly facial hair and a large old grey top hat" she smiled, "of course my first thoughts were that you were still alive, but I could not be sure, and at that moment, I was too upset to think straight- so I simply put the thought aside." She cleared her throat and went on, "from then on I went to my hotel, however I could not shake this strange feeling that Sherlock Holmes was still alive, this most _bothersome _hunch" Sherlock merrily laughed. "So I went to see Watson.

"I figured that of anybody should know _anything_ that it should be him, so I made my way to Cavendish Place"

"-Hold on, how you know I live at Cavendish Place?" Watson intervened, his eyes and features all truly perplexed.

"Now is not the time for questions dear Doctor" she grinned at him and continued. "Upon arriving there, your wife had alerted me that you were- in fact- not present. We had a cup of tea and discussed the events, until she told me one particular piece of information..."

"She told you about the package"

"Yes, she had said that you had been in your study inspecting it when you came upon a small note which she did not have a chance to read. She said you ran out before saying something about 'The place where it all began' I knew then that my hunch was right, and that was when I made my way here"

"I suppose that explains a lot" Watson chimed in before relaxing entirely.

"Yes Watson, perhaps Miss Mary isn't so bad"

Thunder began to rage outside and flash loudly every once in a while, however no one made a move, until Holmes spoke.

"What of Ouroboros? Do you suppose that Moriarty is behind it too...?" he let out a disapproving sound but was open for opinions and judgements.

"You don't think he is?" John asked, drawing the entire attention to himself.

"The cave was man-made yes, but the rock and it's positions, and simply the feeling of the surround area suggests that is was made a few years ago- perhaps somewhere around the ten mark, along with the signs, so unless Moriarty had planned that far ahead- I honestly doubt it... though he probably does have something to do with..."

He stopped there was another knock at the door. All three paused, each searching each other's eyes for any clue as to who might be at the door. Holmes slowly stood up and braced himself, Watson and Irene slowly following in pursuit.

"So we've already gotten someone- two people actually- back from the dead, what's next- the queen?" John joked with a shake of his head. Holme's hand was again wrapped around the exquisite old antique door knob and he once again began to turn it, slowly and carefully.

As it swung open another _very _unexpected guest appeared.

"Mary!"

~SH~SH~SH~~

_Watson residence, just before_

She had had been left slightly confused after Miss Adler's quick and abrupt departure. She had seemed like a fairly kind and caring woman whom needed to find her husband for information on whom she could only suspect was Holmes. Miss Adler, or Irene as she had asked her to call her, had said that she was sure she could trust her enough to tell her that she had a feeling she was missing something, that perhaps Holmes was still alive.

And perhaps he was.

Mary Watson had no doubt in her mind that that was where her husband was heading, to find out the truth. After revealing to Irene that Watson left- not before mentioning 'The place where it all began' she hurriedly left. It was as if they had some secret code...

It was then Mary realised what it meant, it was then she realised where her Husband and Irene were heading.

She smiled proudly and excitedly, for she did not wish to reveal it to many, but she would only be so glad if Holmes was alive- but somehow, in her own strange way, she had missed the odd detective. He may have not been the sanest, but he was certainly caring and trustworthy... like some sort of close family like friend.

She did not wait, after assuring the maid that she would be out- and for how long she did not know- she made her way to a single very perplexing residence in Baker Street.

~SH~SH~SH~

_Current time, 221B Baker Street._

Holme's cheek was once again met with another hard earned slap. This one, if possible, was harder than Irene's. It was powerful enough to knock his head to the side. His eyes widened for a minute and when he looked back, all he could see were Mary and Watson in an embrace, Mary seeming as if she had just seen a ghost.

"Well, let us start the party then, shall we?"

**Sorry for the late update, I WILL update soon. **

**Did you enjoy that? More action, twists and turns VERY soon.**

**R&R**

**X. Rose**


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